Down Memory Lane

I am sharing 3 of my paintings/cards with this post. These paintings remind me of flowers on Memorial Day. The words on the card reminds me of the “thanks” I feel for my deceased relatives. Del’s and my grandparents and parents used to decorate the graves, just as we do now. They picked flowers from their yards, which I find hard to do in Idaho Falls as I can’t find many in bloom yet. I don’t know how they found any either. I remember Peony flowers as ones they picked for decorating graves. Perhaps that’s the problem! We tried growing them several times, but have never been successful!

 It is Memorial Weekend in May 2016. Del and I have the tradition of visiting the graves of our relatives in Idaho Falls, Shelton, Blackfoot and American Falls, all in Idaho. While driving I started reminiscing about the past, one of the best reasons for dropping off flowers at their grave sites. As we drove to the Rose Cemetery in Idaho Falls and to Shelton, visiting my grandparent’s graves, I wrote a letter to my parents (sorry it’s a bit lengthy) in an attempt to share with them some of my memories. This is my letter to them:

 

 Hi dad and mom,

 We couldn’t decide what to do for date night, so we grabbed some flowers and headed to visit Rose and Shelton Cemeteries. We followed the same routine as we always do, stopping at Sherie’s grave first. We laid a few flowers by her tiny little grave marker, the size reminding us she was a stillborn infant. How you managed through having 3 babies develop full term, but die before being born, is beyond me. How grateful I am to know and believe in a resurrection/life after death, and for ordinances that allow us to be with our loved ones in the next life! I guess that’s how you made it through those times too. Her plaque reads “Tibbetts” with an “e” instead of an “i” but that’s okay! I know she’s my sister. Amazing we’ll have 3 more siblings in the next life, if that’s the Lord’s plan.
 

 After being there for a short while we headed to the other plots, looking for the wishing well across the street, designating which path to go down. It’s hard to believe that wishing well is still there. Grandma and Grandpa Tibbitts’s grave are easy to spot, once on the right road, as it faces West towards our car, when most of the other surrounding tombstones face the East. We laid more flowers next to their plot and some on Sydney’s, Maria’s and Gladys’s too. I can’t help but think of Glady’s dying just months before her wedding. How sad those times must have been. That also brings back memories of you dad, with her as your sister. Those are such fun stories!
 

 I love going to these graves because of the memories that start to naturally flow. From this cemetery, Grandma Tibbitts is the only person I knew and as I walked away from her grave I started sharing with Del some of my memories of being with her. I can picture in my mind the many Friday night sleepovers I had at her home, following with a smorgasbord of breakfast choices!! There were all kinds of foods to choose from, not just out of her cupboard, but sitting prepared and ready to eat, spread over her kitchen table! I also remember her many empty bottles of perfumes and lotions that I’d sit for hours playing with, imagining them to be people or anything else I could dream of. I remember mowing her lawn after school and in the summers, and the Twinkies and soda pop she always had for us. Why I didn’t mow her lawn for free, I’ll never understand! When I think of mowing her lawn, I always think of the letter she mailed to me with payment for a time I couldn’t mow due to being sick. She was paying me for the mowing job you did, dad. I still have that letter.

 

 After leaving Rose Cemetery, we headed toward Shelton. I always love looking at your old home on Highway 26, mom. I only know it from when Uncle Wilford and Aunt Wilma lived there, but your stories of your early year’s runs through my mind as we pass it, looking at the small home and the farm land. I try to visualize you surrounded by cats and dogs, and even mice! It’s a little hard to picture that, but photos of you come to my mind and I can only imagine how it must have been. Knowing the Shelton church is just down the road from this place, it brings back memories of Stephanie and Josh’s wedding reception being held there, and of the story you’ve shared of sitting in the window sills during church dances watching the older kids while your dad, the Bishop, chaperoned. Those are fun stories!
 

 At the Shelton Cemetery it was a bit windy and cold, typical for Memorial Day in Idaho! The trees shaded what was left of the evening sun. We laid flowers next to Grandpa and Grandma Burtenshaw’s grave, glanced around at all the other Burtenshaw graves and jumped back into our car to get warm. The drive was beautiful and the memories this brought into my mind made the little extra distance to Shelton worth it. I typically can’t muster up past memories as well as dad does, but as we drove away I started once again sharing memories with Del of Grandma and Grandpa Burtenshaw from our visits to their home on H Street.

I remember their 3 story home (or 2 ½ story one might call it). I thought that 3rd floor was so cool. I didn’t know anyone who lived in a 2 or 3 story home, that’s just not how the California homes were in those days, so visiting grandpa and grandma in a 3 story home was fascinating to me. I remember playing games in that upper room. Was it as big as I remember it being? I picture 2 or 3 queen or full size beds in it. Remembering that room also reminds me of two things that I thought were unique to the area. Now living in Idaho Falls, these things are common, but back then, they seemed almost magical, creating a sense of being somewhere uniquely different. At night, I’d look out the upper window, and see people getting off or on buses. I later learn about the INEL (called by different names over the years) and now realize they were either returning or heading to work. This memory takes me back to dad’s story of Delmer leaving Gladys candy, gum and other small gifts in her mailbox when he returned from the INEL in the middle of the night. I love knowing that Grandma Tibbitts raced her to the mailbox each morning, hoping to get the surprise first. What a fun story (although mixed with sadness, like I mentioned above). Back to my story…I also remember hearing the train. I still hear it now and then, even in my own home further from the tracks, but back then, it seemed magical. I had never been on a train and I imagined people traveling to fun and interesting places. I have one other memory I want to share. I wonder if you’ll remember this. On one of our trips I got an extremely bad earache. My bed was in the upstairs room on the 3rd floor, but I couldn’t sleep due to the extreme pain I felt. Dad gave me a Priesthood blessing and I quickly fell asleep afterwards. The next day the doctor discovered I a blister on my eardrum popped.

 Well…that’s it for now. This is long enough. These memories have led to more, and I’m sure as we continue to travel to the Blackfoot and American Falls Cemeteries I’ll begin to have memories of Del’s family too. This is truly a blessing of living in Idaho, where many of our relatives lived. It’s one of our favorite family traditions.

 Happy Memorial Day!!

 Love, Trudy

 

Scooped on Our Wedding Day

The following story is by my husband Del. He claims it’s all true. I think it might be slightly embellished, yet…maybe not...at least from his point of view.

 This is his story:

 This story is ultimately about our wedding day, but before you can appreciate what happened to us, you’ve got to know a little bit about Trudy’s parents, Keith and Lucile Tibbitts.

 Lucile was raised on a farm in Shelton, Idaho. As a little girl she drank out of the ditch and basically ate the food raised and prepared on the farm. I’m sure she had eaten her fair share of bugs and dirt and she surely shared things with her brother and sisters as all kids do. Somewhere along the line she must have decided she didn’t want to eat bugs and dirt, nor have people playing with her food, for I’m told she relinquished her cherished candy bar simply because her brother barely touched it.

 

Keith and Lucile were really quite particular with cleanliness of food in their home and didn’t even like to, or actually wouldn’t, share food or drinks, even between themselves. Now everyone on the Tibbitts side of the family was aware of their affinity for clean-germ-free food. As the soon to be newest member of the family I had not yet had instilled within me the sacredness of this aspect of the Tibbitts’ culture. Consider that for a moment as I tell you about something else you need to know about the Tibbitts’.

 

 
Just short of their love for the gospel of Jesus Christ is their exuberance for all things ice cream. Family gatherings often included ice cream and they always had ice cream in their freezer for just about any occasion. It’s my understanding that one important aspect of their family vacations were making sure they discovered all of the good ice cream shops along the way. I was made keenly aware of this when I first met Trudy’s parents as they were on their way into an ice cream shop in Provo, Utah. I would later discover that Snalegroves was more than just an ice cream parlor, it was an adventure. My background was limited to thinking that Neapolitan was about as exotic as one needed to be, while the Tibbitts’ had association with every kind of berry, flavor, nut and topping. When they talked about ice cream, 31 Flavors really meant something. To this day, Trudy still likes to sample two or three flavors before she makes her selection. You can actually see it in the Tibbitts’ eyes as they approach the ice cream counter. Messing with their ice cream is just not something you would do lightly.

 

Now that you have a little background it will come as no surprise that having to drive from Hemet, California to the Los Angeles Temple we left making sure we were plenty early with the provision that if we didn’t encounter untoward traffic, we would have time to stop for some ice cream along the way. I thought that was a terrific idea and I knew Trudy would be excited about doing what she always had done with her family.

 

As we got down into the L.A. area, a little closer to the temple, we stopped at a Baskin Robbins/31 Flavors. It was pretty obvious that we weren’t the typical patron at this location. All of us were dressed in church attire and Keith, at the time, had a very nice yellow Cadillac that made us stand out. It was obvious we weren’t from the neighborhood. As we entered the shop we were in the process of making our selection when it became apparent that one of the counter attendants was busy cleaning and mopping the floor. As we got to the point that we were actually getting our ice cream he was now standing on the serving counter and with the same mop, was mopping around the ice cream containers. The worst part of it was, this was obviously routine and no one seemed to notice or be concerned about his activity.

 

I’m sure mom and dad Tibbitts have had other traumatic food experiences in their lives, but as I think back on that situation I can just feel the horror with which they must have viewed that ice cream treat. I’m pretty sure that Keith and Lucile may even feel a little bit queasy just reading about this, some 36 years later, but I have to tell you they are worthy of our greatest admiration for their love and devotion to their daughter on her wedding day. Not wanting to do anything that would distract from what was about to happen they pretended that everything was okay and they actually ate the ice cream. I’m quite sure they didn’t enjoy that ice cream nearly as much as they would have if it hadn’t of been served with a mop!

 

And so, this story about something that happened on our wedding day is ultimately about Keith and Lucile Tibbitts. Thank you for being the great people you are!

It's a Boy!

One week ago today my youngest daughter, Stephanie, gave birth to our 7th grandchild, Luke. I get to visit her and my son-in-law Josh and our new sweet little grandson tomorrow. I absolutely love holding our new little grandchildren as they come into our lives. I am always awestruck at how quickly I love them. It’s amazing to me that we don’t need to know their personalities or know them for very long to have a deep love for them. What a precious blessing!

This little Luke is my parents “one hundred and one” great-grandchild. What an amazing posterity! I say “one hundred and one” (rather than 101st) for a reason. It reminds me of a story about my daughter Stephanie when she was young enough that the only words she knew how to say were: “dada” “mama” and “bubbles”. Around this age “101 Dalmatians” was the first video she ever watched all the way through in one setting. After her first viewing she wanted to watch it over and over and over, even 3, 4, and 5 times a day! Because she couldn’t talk, she would pat my leg, point towards the television and bark! As time went by, we introduced her to “The Lion King” and “Aristocats”. If she wanted to watch one of those she’d roar like a lion or meow like a cat. The funniest part of all of this is when we’d tell her it was bedtime she’d start barking like a dog, meowing like a cat and roaring like a lion, pointing to the television the whole time we carried her up to her crib. As we got closer to her room, she would frantically bark, roar and meow louder and louder. Without question, she didn’t want to go to bed! Without question, she wanted to watch a movie…any one of the three…anything to stay up a little bit longer!

And so…with this story in mind, I just think it’s very fitting that Stephanie had my parent’s “one hundred and one” great-grandchild!

Congratulations Joshua and Stephanie! He’s adorable!

If Mothers Were Flowers

About 3 weeks before Mother’s Day, my mom sent out an email to my siblings and me, expressing her desire for us to not do anything for her on Mother’s Day. I think her note to us shows what kind of a mother we have – a selfless mother, who always served and blessed her children’s lives, never wanting to impose upon us or have us wait upon her, serving us with unconditional love. I hope she won’t mind, but I want to share part of the email she sent to us:

“Hopefully I am not being presumptuous or sending the wrong intent of this letter.  But I just want you to know that the very best Mother’s Day gift you could ever give me is the 5 days you 6 girls spent here with me!!!  Nothing else would even match that!  I want that to be my Mother’s Day gift from each one of you this year!! … Mother’s Day will be just so special when I think of the wonderful memories that were made and I reflect on all of “My Favorite Things”!!! …”

By the way, you need to understand that for Christmas, part of our gift to my parents was letting them know that we were going to all gather to visit them in April. All but one of their daughters and daughter-in-law live away from them and knowing that they would enjoy a visit, we wanted them to have something to look forward to.

As a side note: this isn’t a new thing for us to show up at their home as a “gift”. We chuckle about this idea – as if our presence is a perfect present! About 20 years ago we all arrived in my parent’s town and hid in my sister’s home for an afternoon until the time my parents were invited to her home to open up their combined birthday gift. When my parents showed up at my sister’s, we were hiding in a huge box with wrapping paper covering the box, including the opening at the top. When they saw such a big box, they were worried that they were being given some sort of an extravagant gift. That was troubling…they hated for us to spend money on them. As they gingerly tore into the box, 4 of us jumped out, almost causing two heart attacks! What an exciting surprise. They claim we were the best gift they could ever have! What a fun week we had with them. What a fun memory.

And so…our tradition of “us” being a gift continued…we told them this past December that part of our Christmas gift to them was a trip to their home in April.

As March approached, the month of my mom’s birthday, we all got an email from her requesting that our birthday gift to her be the trip we were still planning to make in April. Remember, this was part of our Christmas gift! And now she was asking for it to be her birthday gift too! And this is not because she forgot it was part of her Christmas gift, it’s just that she didn’t want us to have to worry about what to get her. So we agreed it would be her gift (but added a wreath for her door as an “extra”).

Well…in April we made our trip to their place and had a wonderful time visiting, eating, and just being together. My mom’s comment about “My Favorite Things” in her note above, is referring to some things we did while at my parents. Each of us took something to share with everyone, and we titled it: My Favorite Thing. We shared a variety of things, some including gifts. Our favorite things were: recipes for a healthier way to eat, a yummy waffle recipe and a special ingredient, a favorite smelling soap and lotion, instructions on Indexing, instructions on doing Genealogy work, demos on some great exercises, favorite bunt cakes to taste and share, how to sew a pillowcase without a raw seam, a favorite book, and watercolor painting instructions. What a truly, wonderful time we had with my parents and with each other. We enjoyed it as much as my mother said she enjoyed it.

And now…three weeks before Mother’s Day: Mom once again writes a note asking us to let our trip to their home take the place of our gift to her for Mother’s Day! I wrote back to her: “You are so cute mom!! Our trip… covered your Christmas gift, your birthday gift, and now Mother’s Day!! Wow!! A gift that keeps on giving! Well, I’m not sure it keeps on giving, but it does keep on covering EVERY occasion that comes along!”

So… in honor of my mom this Mother’s Day, I have written a post. This is not a tangible gift (because I told her I’d honor her desire, letting our visit be her gift for 3 occasions), but a gift to let her know, in print, that I love her.

I wish her a happy mother’s day and hope all you mother’s out there have a happy day too!

I love this video. Check it out: It Was Mom: A Mother’s Day Tribute to Moms

74,484 Faces

This number represents the amount of names my father has indexed as of April 27, 2016!!

 These names become “faces”when a person uses online genealogical programs to search and find names, histories, and facts of their own missing ancestors.

Volunteers from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have been indexing since 2006, producing more than one billion searchable records!! Hundreds of thousands of volunteer indexers have participated in this effort throughout the world. This has allowed millions of people worldwide to find information and discover stories about their ancestors. Volunteers add millions of names of ancestors weekly to the Church’s FamilySearch.org archive. How amazing is that?!!

My dad indexes almost daily. He averages 50-100 names per day. He is one of those hundreds of thousands volunteers who take the time to record valuable genealogical information from handwritten records and type them into transcripts that can be searched online. I think that’s incredible. As stated at the top, since he has started indexing, he’s indexed 74,484 names as of April 27, 2016. I think this is a wonderful, selfless act, by him and many others! Thanks all you indexers!!

I have been the benefit of such selfless deeds. I recently searched among the historical records that have been made available due to those who index and within a fairly short amount of time I found “missing” people from my ancestor line that lived in the 1800’s. What an exciting find! Who would have thought that I’d someday enjoy searching for my ancestors?!! I love it!

…NAMES…PEOPLE…FACES…

It’s an incredible feeling to find ancestor names, learn about them as a person, and even sometimes find photos of them. In this process, names become people and people become faces. Sometimes we don’t really know what they look like, but we start to create images in our own minds, just as I created a face with paint and paper. What wonderful and exciting times to search and find and discover someone you’re related to!!

For those involved with Genealogy and Family History: Happy hunting!! Happy finding!! Happy discovering and learning about your ancestors!!! If you haven’t ever gotten involved, try it! It’s exciting!

“Getting into Indexing,” by Brittany Beattie, in the New Era magazine of May 2012 is an excellent article about indexing, especially for the youth. You don’t have to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to index. I hope you enjoy this article.

I Love You To The Moon and Back

On July 31, 2015 we had the rare phenomena of a “blue moon”. Every now and then (about every 2 to 3 years) a full moon appears more than once in a month and apparently during one of these appearances there was some atmospheric dust particles that caused the moon to look bluish at that time. Because of this, the occurrence of having a full moon appear more than once in a month, took on the title of “a blue moon.” And so although a moon isn’t really blue each time it appears more than once in a month, the title stuck. Perhaps this is where we get the saying:  “Once in a blue moon”?

A few days before the appearance of the “blue moon”, my husband and I were taking our nightly walk and he pointed to the moon and explained this phenomena. I had never heard of it. On this night the moon already appeared to be full – and it was gorgeous! While we walked and talked I started thinking of a picture I wanted to paint in relation to the moon. This painting is the result.

Unlike things happening “once in a blue moon” my husband often told our children while they were growing up: “I love you to the moon and back…twice.” And so, although I was inspired to paint this during the phenomena of a “blue moon,” it is actually a painting depicting this verbal exchange between my husband and our children.

We have 3 daughters and 1 son. Although my husband spoke these words to our son as well, I painted it depicting him with one of our daughters and in my mind it definitely depicted all three girls. I ended up posting this picture on Instagram and so our daughters, now grown and married and living miles away, saw it for the first time. Their comments reflect the reaction I had just depicted. It was as if they were just told by their dad: “I love you to the moon and back…twice” and had reached out and given their dad a great big hug!!

The youngest daughter called me and said she wanted a print of this – as large as I can make it! Our oldest daughter sent a reply on Instagram and wrote: “Oh that is so cute! I want a framed copy in my stocking this year…just saying hint hint!” Our middle daughter said: “I love this one!! I want a framed copy too. Because the little girl is me, right? Don’t answer that question…I know it’s me:)”

Of course it is of her!! It’s of my oldest and youngest daughter too…it just depends on who I am talking to when she claims it’s a painting of her!!

I recently read an article by David A. Bednar called: More Diligent and Concerned at Home. In this article he said:

We can begin to become more diligent and concerned at home by telling the people we love that we love them. Such expressions do not need to be flowery or lengthy. We simply should sincerely and frequently express love….

…[W]hen was the last time you took your eternal companion in your arms and said, ‘I love you’? Parents, when was the last time you sincerely expressed love to your children? Children, when was the last time you told your parents that you love them?…

We should remember that saying “I love you” is only a beginning. We need to say it, we need to mean it, and most importantly we need consistently to show it. We need to both express and demonstrate love.

A BIG thank you and a big hug to my family – for always saying and showing their love!!

Fun In The Sun

As our weather began to feel like summer, the church youth group I’m involved with (girls ages 12-18) gathered to decorate flip flops. Pictured here are some of the fun flip flops they made along with some matching tags I painted. Our youth often focus on giving service to others. Wouldn’t it be fun to make some flip flops (they’re very inexpensive!), stick a tag on them, and give them away? It sounds like a fun, summery way to share the joy of the season!

Have a wonderful summer!!

Check out other youth activity ideas! The link will take you to a youth site – click on “Youth Activities”.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day was on May 25, 2015. As our typical observance of that day my husband and I bought a few flowers and ventured to the different family cemetery plots of both of our families in Idaho Falls, Shelton/Ririe, Blackfoot and American Falls. As usual, we talked about our memories of our loved ones from the vantage point of our own experiences and from what our parents have shared. This has always been a tradition our family enjoyed when the kids were all home. Not being here, one of my daughters expressed her desire to hear our stories of that day. With that said, I’ve decided to share on my blog a new story that my husband dictated to me as we drove to American Falls to the gravesite of his parents. The following is his story. The picture I painted is of his home in Arbon Valley, mentioned in the story. I painted it shortly after we returned from our day trip. It was a fun-filled-memory Memorial Day! By the way, for those of you my age or older who like to reminisce about the past, his story will conjure up some very familiar memories of your own, as most of his story is not unique just to him. For those too young to remember television in its infancy, this story might be somewhat entertaining. I hope you enjoy reading it.

My husband’s story:

Mother really was inherently kind. Most outsiders would likely say to a fault, in that she often let others wants and needs push hers aside. She would most times become involved in family projects to the exclusion, or at least the putting off, of what she would have seen as a priority. It was just her nature and heart and soul to be outward looking to the needs of others rather than focused on herself.  With her help and encouragement it was almost magical what she could do to encourage others to achieve.

Mom was an expert at being entertained by life. This resulted in her being interested in what everyone else was doing; most noticeably her family. Rather than being absorbed or looking to her own desires and interests she loved to become part of her family’s dreams and aspirations. She was a true example of the attribute of charity towards others, especially her family. She loved becoming and read constantly, but rather than trying to overtly teach, she just passed on that quest-like love for personal development and education to her friends and family. Mother was the great encourager in everything she said or did. Let me give you an example.

While television was available generally much earlier in cities it came late to rural Idaho. All of the broadcasting in Eastern Idaho was located in the Idaho Falls area. It required a fairly substantial antenna to get any reasonable signal strength very far away from the broadcast towers located out on the desert. I can remember going to my grandparents’ house in Blackfoot and watching Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan in the late 50’s and early 60’s. As a family we had moved to Arbon Valley in the late 50’s and I can remember getting our first television set which I think was one that came from mother’s parents. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a sufficient antenna to really obtain any reception so I don’t recall being able to watch much television while we were in Arbon.

Television in those days in our area was wholly black and white and of course, purely analog and dependent upon  vacuum tube technology. As a practical matter, that meant that the circuits were very unstable and necessitated tuning and adjustment almost on a constant bases. Furthermore, the nature of vacuum tubes required that they warm up so when you turned the television on you always had to wait several minutes before you could begin to tune or adjust the picture. Most often, if the signal was weak you simply saw fuzzy looking interference which was labeled as “snow” due to loss of signal. By far the most common viewing was a program interwoven with occasional “snowstorms.” On top of tuning and adjusting constantly, you had to change channels by turning the knob on the television set, since the remote control was an unheard of future invention. In fact, I can remember going to Salt Lake City to my Aunt and Uncle’s home, Grace and Kelly Kellogg’s, and seeing for the first time, a rudimentary remote control which allowed you to do one thing, and one thing only, simply change the stations by rotating a dial from one to thirteen sequentially. Not only did our TV not have a remote, we were only able to receive two out of the three channels available in our area with a copious amount of tinfoil attached to our rabbit-ear antenna.

When we moved to American Falls in the early 60’s we still had the television that we had used out in Arbon and I remember watching “I Love Lucy”, “Jack LaLanne”, and “Art Linkletter”. In so doing, you always had to sit within a few feet of the television because the signal strength would vary and as a result the horizontal and vertical stabilization would change. What this meant, in terms of viewing enjoyment, was that the picture would constantly roll and shift horizontally so you couldn’t see any picture at all. For those who have never experienced this phenomena, imagine if you will watching a picture with a line rotating either from the top of the screen slowly down through the picture or slowly rising from the bottom and disappearing off the top of the screen and taking the picture with it. So while the great part of television is that it is a motion picture, a “motion-motion” picture is absolutely worthless and simply annoying. So you had to crawl up to the television and gingerly adjust the horizontal and vertical knobs provided inconveniently on the back of the TV cabinet, which meant that without help you could hardly see the picture while trying to adjust it. Most often you would no sooner stop the picture from rolling up and down and get back to your chair that it would lose the vertical stabilization so you would be looking at a picture that was akin to watching through bars slanted from one corner of the television set to the other. Television in its infancy was also essentially exercise equipment, we just didn’t know that yet.

All of this leads up to the absolute joy when technology improved with the introduction of transistors and better antenna and broadcast capabilities. I remember clearly driving out to my Uncle’s house in Lavaside near Blackfoot to watch the Apollo moon landing in July of 1969. Uncle Gaylen had just purchased their first color TV and although the moon landing wasn’t in color and looked a little grainy and far away, it was a marvelous improvement over anything that I’d ever experienced on our set. The quality of the video from the moon 280 thousand miles away was better than in my home. Our family actually got a new colored television for the first time in the fall of 1970. We were finally able to move our old TV to the basement where it remained for several years.

And now for the purpose of this whole story is to tell you about mother. You see, we were cleaning out the basement at one point and the focus became that old television and whether it had outlived it’s usefulness. It should have been obvious to anyone that repairing something that didn’t work to begin with was not a real logical idea. Although mom was probably surprised when I initially asked her to keep it,  extolling my intent to repair it, rather than dash my hopes or question my abilities, mother kindly asked what it would take to fix it. I, of course, had no experience in television repair which prompted mother to ask how long it would take, and I ultimately arrived at the realization that it would take a million years. Mother knew she was unlikely to ever see that TV operational, but she certainly never even hinted anything was impossible if you set your mind to it. We joked and laughed many times after that conversation as to how I was progressing on my TV restoration project. Needless to say, this TV never was repaired and I’m not quite sure what happened to it, but I’m sure it ultimately made it to the landfill where it should have been many years earlier.

Happily Ever After

Two of my four children, Kristi and Stephanie, celebrated their wedding anniversaries two weeks ago. They both got married on May 16th, one in 2008 and one in 2014. After our most recent wedding I looked back through all of my children’s wedding pictures to get ideas for some wedding cards. I had a ton of fun doing this, ending up designing at least 3 whimsical cards per couple. The pictures in this post depict my daughter, Stephanie, who was married most recently. I have quite a few more to paint and I hope to add them to this post when finished. By the way, the colors on your screen may not be quite accurate. Sorry. On the actual cards, I painted the dresses with shimmery Champagne Gold metallic paint or White Pearl metallic paint. The actual paintings shimmer in the light, but the scanner doesn’t pick it up.

With weddings in mind, I remembered a wonderful talk I heard by Dieter F. Uchtdorf, titled: Your Happily Ever After. He began his talk by saying:

Over the years I have been exposed to many beautiful languages—each of them is fascinating and remarkable; each has its particular charm. But as different as these languages can be, they often have things in common. For example, in most languages there exists a phrase as magical and full of promise as perhaps any in the world. That phrase is “Once upon a time.”

Aren’t those wonderful words to begin a story? “Once upon a time” promises something: a story of adventure and romance, a story of princesses and princes. It may include tales of courage, hope, and everlasting love. In many of these stories, nice overcomes mean and good overcomes evil. But perhaps most of all, I love it when we turn to the last page and our eyes reach the final lines and we see the enchanting words “And they lived happily ever after.”

Isn’t that what we all desire: to be the heroes and heroines of our own stories; to triumph over adversity; to experience life in all its beauty; and, in the end, to live happily ever after?

Further into his talk he stated:

For a moment, think back about your favorite fairy tale. In that story the main character may be a princess or a peasant; she might be a mermaid or a milkmaid, a ruler or a servant. You will find one thing all have in common: they must overcome adversity.

Cinderella has to endure her wicked stepmother and evil stepsisters. She is compelled to suffer long hours of servitude and ridicule.

In “Beauty and the Beast,” Belle becomes a captive to a frightful-looking beast in order to save her father. She sacrifices her home and family, all she holds dear, to spend several months in the beast’s castle.

In the tale “Rumpelstiltskin,” a poor miller promises the king that his daughter can spin straw into gold. The king immediately sends for her and locks her in a room with a mound of straw and a spinning wheel. Later in the story she faces the danger of losing her firstborn child unless she can guess the name of the magical creature who helped her in this impossible task.

In each of these stories, Cinderella, Belle, and the miller’s daughter have to experience sadness and trial before they can reach their “happily ever after.” Think about it. Has there ever been a person who did not have to go through his or her own dark valley of temptation, trial, and sorrow?

Sandwiched between their “once upon a time” and “happily ever after,” they all had to experience great adversity. Why must all experience sadness and tragedy? Why could we not simply live in bliss and peace, each day filled with wonder, joy, and love?

Dieter F. Uchtdorf then goes on to share a fun story (his “trial”) about him falling in love with a girl named Harriet. He said:

When we had special activities at church, I rode my bike to Harriet’s house and rang the doorbell. Harriet’s mother usually answered. In fact, she opened the kitchen window of their apartment on the fourth floor and asked what I wanted. I would ask if Harriet would like a ride to church on my bicycle. Harriet’s mother would say, “No, she will be coming later, but I will be happy to ride with you to church.” This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but how could I decline?

And so we rode to church. I must admit I had a very impressive road bike. Harriet’s mother sat on the top tube bar just in front of me, and I tried to be the most elegant bicycle driver over roads of rough cobblestone.

Time passed. While beautiful Harriet was seeing many other young men, it seemed that I could not make any headway with her.

Was I disappointed? Yes.

He finishes his story with a “happily ever after” ending. Harriet eventually becomes his bride. Dieter F. Uchtdorf says: “…looking back I recognize that it doesn’t hurt at all to be on good terms with the mother of the girl of your dreams.” He makes clear that all “will experience [our] own adversity. None is exempt. You will suffer, be tempted, and make mistakes. You will learn for yourself what every heroine has learned: through overcoming challenges come growth and strength.” He further tells us: “It is your reaction to adversity, not the adversity itself, that determines how your life’s story will develop.”

His whole talk is excellent. He gives advice and hope and direction. His talk is titled: “Your Happily Ever After”. If you’re interested, click on the link. It is one of my favorites.

"Really There"

I posted my painting of the Paperboy a few days ago and because it was about my father it caused me to reflect back to a time in High School when I drew this charcoal drawing of a statue of Michelangelo. I remember one night in particular. The finished project was due the next day. Actually, the day had already arrived as it was past midnight. I was exhausted. I couldn’t get the nose right, or was it the mouth or one of the eyes? I don’t remember now, but I was struggling with one last part. My dad suggested that I go to bed. He said he would work on it.  I sure appreciated his offer that night. It was such a kind gesture. When I look at this picture, I don’t remember my grade or the specific art class and what semester I took it in, but I remember my dad letting me get some much needed sleep and I remember waking up to a finished project.

I saw a little television advertisement called “Waiting for Dad.” It shows the love of a father, depicted in the father stopping what he was doing to spend time with his child. My dad was the same. He was always happiest when he was with his children. At least he made us feel that way! He still does! The video says: “When you’re really there…they’ll know how much you care.” My dad was, and is, “really there.” Thanks dad!!

Am I “really there” with those that I care about? Are you?

Paperboy

My dad turned 88 this week. I made him this card for his birthday. I enjoyed creating and painting this knowing he was a paperboy when he was younger. The words on the paper are too small for you to read, but it states the day of my dad’s birthday and then says: Keith Tibbitts Birthday – From paperboy to the best dad in the world…” Today, when I decided to post this card, I realized I didn’t know very much about those earlier days when he threw papers to neighboring porches, so I called him for a few details.

He was a paperboy for the Post Register in his younger years; he thinks from the age of 12 to 16. As depicted in my card, he rode a bike when at all possible, but with two bags hanging over the bike. In the winter the snow became packed between the fender and the tire, causing him to have to push his bike, and so walking became the better option. In those days a boy would own their own paper route and could hire another boy to help. He began as a “helper” for $1 a week. As a helper earning a dollar a week, he says his paper route passed a corner grocery store – a mom and pop store consisting of a house in the neighborhood turned into a small store. They delivered papers right after school and he laughingly told me that he spent most of his dollar in that store before the week was out. This was when bread was 10 cents a loaf. He spent his money on candy or soda pop at 5 cents each and at times saved enough for a 10 cent Saturday matinee movie.

My dad eventually owned his own paper route with the Post Register and He spent every Saturday morning collecting money from the customers  for the papers delivered. They paid most of that money to the Post Register and the rest paid for the $1 helper, earning about $4 per week.  He earned that only if every customer paid, but they didn’t all pay. That portion came out of the route owners part. His route included a street called Ada Avenue, where 15 to 20 years later he built our first family home; the home I began my childhood in.

My dad remembers sitting down on the sidewalk in front of the Post Register to fold the papers. Back then they folded the papers into a 6×6 square, first folding the paper into threes and then going the opposite direction, tucking the top fold into the bottom fold. With not enough time to fold all of the papers, he rode his bike without hands in order to fold the rest as they delivered. Speaking about one specific day, quoting my dad, he said: “After folding our papers, I saw an open door at a home we delivered to. I told my helper to watch this. As we rode our bikes along the road I let fly a folded paper that sailed thru his door, thru his living room, landing in his kitchen. It scared him to death as he uttered a few choice words and smiled as he came out onto his porch. We got pretty accurate with all the practice we had throwing papers. I couldn’t let the opportunity go by. It’s as if it were just yesterday; a great memory!!!”

 It is easy to look back on those former days and become nostalgic when talking with my dad. I love to hear his stories! I hope this post reminds some of you of your earlier days, regardless of our age. Plenty of you may have delivered newspapers, but if not, perhaps you’ll recall a few other younger-life jobs. Jobs, quite often, are just “jobs” while you’re at them. What makes them seem so nostalgic later in life? Perhaps it’s the friends we make while working. Maybe it just feels good to know you did something worthwhile and hard. Maybe you learned a lesson from it and it lasted a lifetime. Maybe it simply takes you back to the days of other joys – seasons with memories we cherish. Whatever the case may be, I hope you have fond memories.

While writing this post a story came to my mind. It’s about Dieter F. Uchtdorf. When he was 11 years old his family had to leave East Germany and begin a new life in West Germany. He became a laundry delivery boy to help with their small family business. Many years later he discovers what a huge blessing it was to perform that labor. I hope you read his story. It’s excellent.

Mother's Day 2015

In honor of mothers I want to share my husband’s story about his mother. As you will guess, the little boy in the story is my husband.

The China Dishes

I want to tell you a story about a little boy who I knew that lived in a rural farming community not far from here, clear back in the 1950’s. Those that are old enough to recall those times will likely agree there just wasn’t the abundance of  household items that we see today. This was before the days of CorningWare, back to the days of parlors and hope chests filled with special china, which was often handed down from one generation to the next. Picture if you will, a formal Sunday setting with relatives gathered and the very best this country family could assemble for a table setting. The china pattern was a rose made in the USA by Ballerina and was the prize possession of this little boy’s mother, having been purchased by her parents as a wedding gift to her. Well, the meal had ended and some had gone to the living room to visit while others had begun to clean up the dishes, busily working in the kitchen. Everyone seemed to be doing something including the little 5-year-old boy who wanted to get in on the post-meal family activities. Well,the table, which had been the center of the festivities, consisted of a center section with two drop leaves on each end. One of the favorite things for the children in this family to do was to crawl under the table and release the latch, allowing the leaves to drop to the folded position. In his exuberance to get to that lever first, he simply overlooked the fact that the china dinner plates were still stacked in a pile about 10 or so high on the leaf. With one simple little push the brace folded and the china plates crashed to the linoleum floor in varying degrees of shattered glass. In one moment the greatest part of the cherished china became bits and pieces. As one might expect upon realizing or discovering the substantial nature of his error the little boy began to cry and crawl back under the table. The extent of the tragedy spread to the kitchen where this little boy’s mother was washing and carefully putting the dishes away. And it must have broken her heart to hear and then see the remnants of her once complete set of china. This mother though wasn’t much concerned about her dishes. What she did was gather up her sobbing little boy and explain that she was forgiving of his foolish mistake and that it would be all right, it was only dishes. This good lady never had a full set of china for the rest of her life, but she practiced, knew and taught more about forgiveness in about 1 minute than most of us will learn in a lifetime.